


red light, green light, black out (this is what i feel like)

by Nitzer



Series: hot mess [2]
Category: H.O.T. (Band)
Genre: Come Eating, Crossdressing, Drinking and Smoking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Light Feminization, Lingerie, M/M, Smut and Angst, but this is porn it doesn't matter, never talking about anything ever, not even angst really? like they clearly have a History, old men in denial probably, other members are mentioned in passing - Freeform, they're not exactly....gentle with each other lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitzer/pseuds/Nitzer
Summary: "And because Chilhyun’s public love life had become such a tangled web of scandals and catfights. There was no way I could ever be really dragged into it. I was an uninterested bystander at best. Even with my tongue down his throat. Even with his hands sloppily popping the button of my jeans. Our ties never lasted until sunrise anyway. We were just a fleeting detour on the way to something better. (Even if this particular flame just refused to die.)"
Relationships: Ahn Chilhyun (Kangta)/Jang Woohyuk
Series: hot mess [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813612
Kudos: 4





	red light, green light, black out (this is what i feel like)

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Wet" by Jooyoung  
> this was all written in one frantic afternoon, idk if this is even anything people ship, i just have an unavoidable, innate desire to put old men in unhealthy relationships and lingerie i guess ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ idk either man

I’m drunk. Too drunk. _Way_ too drunk. And it’s after karaoke. And I’m following Chilhyun home and I _know_ what that means but I’m still doing it. Sometimes, I accept, you are just a fallen leaf in the middle of a thunderstorm. Sometimes I am just me and Chilhyun is this too bright, electric version of himself that I cannot compete with. That was only one of the many reasons why I drank with Seungho and Jaewon all the time and rarely with Chilhyun though. This was only a minor mess I kept trying to will away in the heap of messes, insults and general incompatibility we had all uncovered over the years. This only left me a little bit torn up on the inside. It didn’t end anyone’s career or anything.

Chilhyun’s not handsy in the taxi. He’s never handsy until he’s sure everything is entirely under his control. He is talkative, though. He won’t stop talking soccer scores and world cup predictions with the driver. I’m just trying my best not to think at all. If I consider what this could be—the implications, the meaning behind any of this—I will crumble. So I keep a steady hand on Chilhyun’s thigh and focus all my attention on the way the city lights filter through the rain into the taxi.

This wasn’t career-ending because taxi drivers weren’t really the demographic to recognize former-HOT members. And because Chilhyun’s public love life had become such a tangled web of scandals and catfights. There was no way I could ever be really dragged into it. I was an uninterested bystander at best. Even with my tongue down his throat. Even with his hands sloppily popping the button of my jeans. Our ties never lasted until sunrise anyway. We were just a fleeting detour on the way to something better. (Even if this particular flame just refused to die.)

Chilhyun doesn’t even flick the lights on when he pushes me into the entrance of his apartment. It’s not like it would help. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this particular place in daylight anyway. And it’s easier to fist my fingers in the hem of his too-big sweatshirt, easier to stick my nose into the crook of his neck and just breathe him in this way. With the lights on, _Chilhyun_ looks the same as he has since like 1998, with the same mischievous streak—too playful to be as respected and revered as he is. But with the lights off, _nothing_ has changed at all. We are fumbling, drunk teenagers just experimenting at best. It’s just a physical tie that we can’t escape. Something that doesn’t come anywhere near our hearts.

His couch is plush and expansive, feels almost silky against whatever skin it brushes. But it’s not his bed. And that doesn’t escape my attention. I’m not the one balanced precariously over him anymore, pressing my hand into his chest until he tips over and I can crawl over him. He takes a seat in my lap, bracketing me in, not giving me any hope of escape. But I’m too far gone, too into this to even think about leaving before it’s over now. I’m stretching the collar of his sweatshirt far enough that I hear the snapping sound of threads breaking but there’s so much skin I want to sink my teeth into and I don’t have the coordination to get to it any other way.

“Hold on, hold on.” He breathes out, pushing my face away none too gently.

I comply. But it’s mostly because I’m fascinated by the gradation of peach to pink to red happening on his chest.

“I wanna try something.” He tells me, looking down at me through half-lidded eyes, darting his tongue out to wet his lips. And I’d let him do anything. I always let him be in control of our little escapades. I’d always lay my hands on Chilhyun in any way he demanded. I was a dedicated worshipper (but I’m pretty sure Chilhyun was the cult leader and not any kind of real priest).

“Yeah?” I manage, my hands still holding his hips in place.

“You wanna strip me?” He teases. “It’ll speed things up.”

He’s wearing stylish sweats with no underwear underneath (so he planned this, I suppose) but they might as well be the most complicated stage outfits from back in our HOT days for how well I can get him out them. I get one arm barely out of the sweatshirt before something about the glint of his eyes in the dim light drives me crazy against and I’m pulling him down for a sloppy kiss that leaves spit trailing down the side of my cheek. And my hands find their way up his exposed side, warm flesh searing against warm flesh until we’re stuck together by all the pulsing points of contact between us. His hands push the elastic band of his pants down past his waist and there’s something about still being fully clothed while Chilhyun has half a sweatshirt at best. There’s something there that makes me feel in control for once and it’s intoxicating.

But it’s short-lived. He backs away from me as he steps out of his pants, tossing the sweatshirt off easily behind it. “You should strip for me too, huh, darling?” He requests with that confidence and control that always came easily to him, disappearing into some room down the hall.

I go back to trying my best not to think at all. Not think about anything important anyway. My mind is full of half-memories, half-fantasies of Chilhyun popping the button on my jeans. Chilhyun undoing every button on the shirt of my tux with his teeth, seductive in a way that must be practiced. Chilhyun letting his fingers dance on the exposed skin of my inner arm as he rolls my sleeve up higher. We had a lot of years together to explore. A lot of time together, a lot of memories to sort through. When I was in the mood, I could go weeks getting off on nothing but the memory of us together. But I was rarely in the mood when he wasn’t right in front of me.

I’m down to boxers, still painfully hard and brightly flushed when he comes back around the corner. He’s wearing more clothes than before which seems like a step back to me at first. It’s a thin-looking, white robe—something he absent-mindedly took from a hotel once probably. But then I finally make the assumption that it is covering up something better. Even if I can’t wrap my head around anything better than a stark naked Chilhyun, staring me down in the dim lighting with that glint in his eye. With that pure confidence in every one of his movements. I can’t think of even one thing to improve.

He leans in the doorway in that cheesy, faux-casual way that porn stars do, his hands playing with the tie of the robe. “Well,” he tempts, nearly undoing the knot by himself, “come unwrap me.”

But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to find out. I press him against the nearest wall, watching the way he melts into gentle curves against the hard surface. I hold his hands over his head so he can’t take away the fun of unwrapping this little surprise for me. It’s a feat, though, with how stupid tall he is and everything and with me stretching the entire length of my body just to reach over his head, I feel his breath on my lips and can’t resist kissing him again. Chilhyun’s back to a level of control where he at least keeps his tongue in my mouth. And my hands fumble with the tie holding the robe closed. His tongue slides into my mouth for once, the tip tracing over the insides of my teeth curiously. I focus on breathing and my hands at his waist or I’ll never figure out what this surprise is and we’ll both unceremoniously cum in our boxers like this is the first time all over again.

And then I do get it open and I slide the sleeves down his shoulders slowly, my eyes still closed, our lips still locked. I hear the soft thump of the robe hitting floor and I try to see what I unwrapped but Chilhyun grabs my chin and holds my head in place. “Eyes up here.” He instructs. “Just guess.” He purrs, using his free hand to guide my hands back to his body.

It’s all bare, burning hot skin up his ribcage like it was before. And then my fingers trace over something silky. It’s the tiniest little strip, wrapped around his chest and I have to go back over it a couple times before I’m convinced it’s not just an especially soft patch of skin. So I follow the little line of silk up to find the rougher texture of lace, doing nothing to conceal the hardened nub of one of his nipples under my fingertips.

“Lingerie?” I breathe out, as coherent of a guess as I can manage.

“Bingo.” He breathes back, releasing his grip on my chin.

When I step back to take a look at it, I’m struck first by how awkward it is. The way the band of the bra digs into his broad chest. The way his hipbones seem sharp enough to cut through the lace of the panties entirely. But there’s something about the awkwardness—about the _wrongness_ —that makes my mouth water and my hands itch with the desire to touch. It’s some trendy, muted, nude color that speaks to elegance and class and money and not sloppily trying to get off with an old friend every time you drink too much. The panties already have a wet spot over the tip of his dick and it’s _disgustingly_ easy to roll with the punches. It’s like second nature.

“You’re this wet already, baby?” I tease, cupping my hand over the panties. And his whole body jumps towards me, his dick twitching in my hands. I think I managed to throw him off somehow. I don’t think he calculated how natural this would feel to me.

“Isn’t the fun of me the fact that I’m not a girl?” He presses but the sudden shallowness of his breathing and the spreading wet spot under my fingers gives him away.

“Then what’s the point of the panties?” I laugh.

He doesn’t answer, just turns his head to the wall, showing off the stretch of skin all the way from his jaw line to his collarbone.

“You’re already so pretty, did you think this would be fair?” I ask, nipping at the skin of his neck.

“It’s not about _fair_.” He finally answers, pushing me back towards the couch. “There’s nothing here to win.”

And I’d like to still be in control, I really would but we both know we’re too old to try fucking against a wall anymore so I’m mostly grateful. “Then what _is_ it about?”

He scoffs. “Why don’t you help me figure that out, huh?” He challenges. “There definitely isn’t a point if you don’t do anything, Hyukkie.” He pushes.

And we’re back to square one (or two maybe, or a thousand, I never know where I stand with Chilhyun). Me bracketed into his couch, Chilhyun above me, both of us hard and desperate. But this time he’s wearing lingerie. So I take advantage of it. I press the flat of my tongue against the little triangle of lace covering half of his chest, sucking at the nub through the fabric.

He freezes for a moment, the muscles in his thighs straining under my hands. And then he lets out this beautiful, broken little sound, his shiny pink lips parted around nothing.

“Too much?” I ask, ghosting my thumb over the wet fabric I left behind.

“Maybe.” He gasps out, his chest still heaving with uneven breaths. “Maybe not enough.”

So I press just the tip of my tongue to his other nipple, watching his face for a reaction.

He hums, a deafening rumble I can feel through his chest. “Not enough.” He settles on, voice deep and thick.

The next time I put my mouth on him, he cants his hips my way, the lace rubbing teasingly against my stomach. “I don’t even have to touch your pretty little pussy to get you off, huh baby?” I tease, pushing the bra up little by little.

“ _Fuck_.” He grits out and I can see the way he leaks a little spurt of pre-cum onto the front of the panties. It’s definitely a “have mercy” kind of “fuck,” a plea. But he takes in one deep, shuddering breath and then looks down at me like I’m just something to be devoured. “But you want to touch, don’t you?” He moves in closer so the entire lace-covered line of his cock is pressed snugly against my stomach.

And I do. The fun of Chilhyun has always been touching. It’s always been the fact that I can get my hands on the nation’s idol. My hands snake around his waist to palm at his ass and it’s still flat and toned, horribly unsuited to the low-cut panties he chose. But the fact that it’s nothing like what I felt before, that I can slip my hands up from underneath or down the back of the panties is enough to make up for it. “You’re right but I think you can get yourself off like that.” It’s a challenge, what I’m issuing.

He grits his teeth, unamused but still taking the challenge. When he finally frees his cock from the panties, the flushed tip looks prettier, pinker against the muted nude fabric. My mouth waters to close around it. But Chilhyun’s got a challenge and he’s determined. He closes his fist around both of our cocks and there’s something about the too-dry friction, the near burn that’s familiar, almost nostalgic. But then he bows his head to spit on his fist and all thoughts of anything but _here_ and _now_ are wiped from my head.

I rock sloppily into his hand, gripping his ass so hard I spread the cheeks when he decides to twist his hand on the upstroke. “ _Yes_.” He hisses, tossing his head back. “More.”

But there’s not much more I can give him without lube. And there’s clearly no lube, as evidenced by the spit covering both of us. So I just brush my fingertip against his hole experimentally, a dry tease more than anything else. And that gets him into a rhythm of pushing forward into his hand and then pushing his ass back against my fingers, trying to get all the friction he possibly can.

I feel a familiar heat pooling in my stomach and I know we’re both too old to even try for a round two (that neither of us will even be interested once we’ve both cum and come to our senses) but I can’t help but thinking about really fucking him in this get up. The way the bralette would lay flat against his flat chest. Just pushing the panties to the side and fucking into him that way. The way he would clench around me whenever I said anything about his “pretty little pussy.” But reality bleeds into fantasy as Chilhyun starts making these strained, little whimpers on every thrust, losing rhythm as he goes.

He spills over me and all over his hand with the prettiest broken moan. Something that even his singing can’t hold a candle to. His body is all one, long, taut line, his chest straining against the material of the bra. I follow soon after with some kind of pitiful groan, hunching over myself so my head comes to rest against his chest.

As I’m coming down, he presses his cum-covered fingers to my lips. “Taste.” He prods gently. And I’m still so foggy and compliant that I dart my tongue out to taste. It’s sour and bitter but not an unfamiliar flavor. “Go on.” He goads and I easily take two of his fingers into my mouth.

There’s something uniquely…almost comforting about having his fingers in my mouth. Something that soothes my ragged breathing and my unruly heartbeat. I swirl my tongue around the fingers once, swallowing down what I’ve cleaned off. I lock sleepy, unfocused eyes with him and realize a moment too late that there is also something uniquely _intimate_ about this. I release his fingers with a wet little “pop” and nearly scramble backwards on the couch.

He also nearly bolts away, fetching his robe to lazily clean off the rest of his hand. He comes back to the couch but sits on the other side and gropes for a package of cigarettes on the coffee table. He offers me one before he lights up. And I’m not really a smoker, a social smoker at best but by “social” I really meant only with Chilhyun. Only in these awkward after moments.

“Where’d you get the lingerie?” I ask to fill the silence.

“I don’t remember.” He answers vaguely, blowing out a puff of smoke. “I bought them for an ex but things went sour before I could ever give them to her.”

“So this is your first time wearing them?” I ask, my cigarette still hanging out of my mouth. I can’t get it to light and stay lit.

“No…” He trails off. “I tried it on before, just out of curiosity but I figured it would be more fun to get someone else in on the action.”

It should be comforting, how quickly we go back to just old friends, just former bandmates but instead it makes my stomach turn. I don’t want to focus on why. “So I was the first that saw it then?” I press casually.

“Yeah, besides me.” He answers and it’s all fine. It’s all casual. It’s all a conversation we could’ve had at the karaoke bar or the chicken place he likes or at his radio show while our mics were off. But then I do one more sweep over his disheveled form, the way he pointedly won’t make eye contact with me and it’s too much. It’s too different.

We can’t even _imply_ that there’s some thought put into this. That we chose each other over anyone else every time we meet. That we saved certain things for the other. This can’t be any more than a spontaneous, terrible decision. An impulse. Even if it’s the thousandth time this has happened. It can’t be purposeful or the façade that we both carefully created will crumble. This _has_ to be meaningless.

He turns his head sharply to look out the window at the night sky. “I’ll call you a taxi, okay?” He offers and the message is clear, “we’re done, leave now.”

I have no intention of doing anything else, though. “Yeah, let me just clean up a little.” I tell him, struggling to pull my boxers back up.

When I get up to walk out the door we don’t kiss, we don’t hug, we don’t even give a half-hearted hand shake. He waves me off weakly, shutting the door behind me as soon as it won’t hit me. I don’t bother looking back at the number on his door either. I’m never gonna see this place in daylight. It’s not for me to know anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](angelinmyheartt.tumblr.com) [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Nitzer)


End file.
